


A Genetic Study on Fate

by Everyman



Category: Gattaca (1997)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Reality, Help, I guess., JERVIN, M/M, eugene pov, i am terrible at this how does one, same universe though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:01:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1576151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyman/pseuds/Everyman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jerome Eugene Morrow: a 9.3 meant for greatness and glory, to ever be second to none<br/>Vincent Freeman: an Invalid doomed from his very first breaths on Earth.</p><p>They were practically set up for angst, conflict, loathing from the start.</p><p>However, somehow, it is from that very start when they first met each other - when Vincent was still that nerd that was literally star-eyed, forever with thoughts glued to the planets and the moons, while Jerome was still the grumpy brit who was meant for gloriousness that he’d never fulfil, reaching that stage where it's the sunnier days leading up to the major catastrophe, where he is willing try something, anything, to find a purpose - that they just end up sparking off something very much different, yet so close, to hatred. </p><p>When they finally achieve their goal, what will happen to the other of the two?</p><p>(i suck at summaries. sorry.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Genetic Study on Fate

**Author's Note:**

> **EDIT 2:** I just want you to know that each and every kudo and commment given leaves me warm and fuzzy, almost as if the too-sexy smoke Vincent collected in that wine glass is surrounding me with the feels. Thank you. 
> 
> This was (is? technically still is, forever will be?) a birthday gift for a friend. FRIEND YOU SEE THIS.  
> yep.
> 
> And now decided to post it up here for ... maybe just to share a version of an alternate "ending"? GATTACA'd left me with painful feels. What is with the two of them. D:  
> And Fate isn't really mentioned that much here, but i guess...overall theme might have hints of it here and there...  
> So... Enjoy. I hope.  
>  **EDIT 1:** i realised i accidentally switched to first person for a while there. horrorful i am so sorry . OTL

 

_-Before the takeoff-_

There is no gene for fate.

But sometimes, in his haziest times trying not to drown in the vodka he still has hidden in the back of his cabinet, he really wonders.  
Without the disparity between their genes, would they have even been fated to meet? Had it been fate, that someone, second to none, would fall and be replaced by someone, never meant to live, who will rise up and shine brighter than he would ever.

 

_-Night of drunken ‘celebration’-_

He laughed at the ceiling, or he hopes it’s a laugh – he couldn’t possibly fail at laughing too, could he? – and recited the one favourite line of his mother’s.

“If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.” See, Mother? Aren’t you so proud of your perfect little son. Jerome Eugene, both names of greatness and the well-born.

“Go to sleep.” Ah, his weary protagonist. Eyes in the sky and heart soaring above everyone else, reaching where no Invalid should.

He sees Vincent start to pull away, and a flare of something heats up within. _Oh no you don’t._ He reaches up and quickly snags the tie – his tie – that hung oh so neatly around Vincent’s collar, viciously crumpling the material as he reeled Vincent in with a sharp pull. Vincent’s eyes widen from behind his lenses, the tinge of his natural brown visible from the proximity.

“I'm proud of you, Vincent.” He sees as the acrid smell of his breath reaches Vincent. It probably smells as bad as his mouth feels. Dead.

Vincent smiles to himself, as if humouring a child. “You must be drunk to call me Vincent.” _Am not_.

 

_-Mere days before take-off for Titan-_

What? Was he so blind as to even fail to realise what he’d already accomplished?

The acid of self-loathing and incredulity at his lack of self awareness bubbled up, tingeing Eugene's words as he barely held back any sting from the insult he felt.

“I could have rented myself somebody with a spine if I’d known you’d go belly up on me at the last. Fuckin. Gasp.” The satisfaction from the flinch he produced sank and coiled deep in his stomach.

“You can’t quit on me now. I’ve put too much into this. What do you want me to do? Wheel in there and finish the bloody job myself?”

“Eugene.” One word shouldn’t sound so heavy. “They are going to find me.”

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Eugene wheeled round the benches, as if distance could hinder his words like his legs did his movements. “When they look at you, they don’t see you anymore. They only see me.”

_Only, it’s no longer me. I’m no longer the Jerome, meant for greatness. It is you, who has made the name fit the man. The man made for the name, for my genes._

The Perfect Human Specimen.

 

Bloody idiot.

Everyone’s going, eh? She had the crisp look of parents that had deliberated over the details, painstakingly choosing the perfect mould for their perfect child. Perfect match to the Jerome Morrow of a 9.3.

Psh. He’d better not leave any of his DNA around.

 

Samples after samples for the silly fool, the idealistic idiot.

Bored. Can’t drink. Can’t go out. Bored. Bored. Where’s he. Right, out celebrating.

He reaches for a glove, contemplates it. And blows it up, big and balloon-y, before letting it snap and burst away. Hmm. Well then, another great accomplishment off the bucket list.

 

Was it fate that he fell into an earth-bound failure so that the other may rise into the stars?

 

Even though Jerome had already lift off, heading for the mysterious shrouded land of Titan, this house, was no longer just his. It was still theirs, became theirs the moment nervous, awkward bespectacled Vincent had set foot in the place, when his wry acceptance (and even _playing along_ ) of Eugene’s humour had immediately shone a different light upon the man.

Strangely enough, his self-imposed prison cell had grown to become a home.

His sigh sounded strangely muted despite the empty house.

Eugene rubbed a hand over his heart, where his silver medal rested in his breast pocket. What signalled the start should close the end. At least this time, he’d finally achieved success, having been given the chance to make a dream come true, the dream his body had been made for.

This would be the last time he took out his medal, the only medal that ever mattered, soon to be hung over his head and with the heavy shine of grey of a runner-up resting on his shoulders.

Strong hands steering ever-steady, Eugene wheeled across his workspace for the last time, over to the special incinerator, which had become the key point of Vincent’s daily ritual. This would be the second time he’d tossed himself out of his chair, with not a drop of spirit tainting his blood. At least this time round, there would be no hindering stairs to pull his deadweight up.

Gathering his arms under himself, he heaved his upper body off the chair, barely catching himself in time from nose-diving into the floor. Eugene gripped the steel edge of the door, the cold metal digging into his palm as he dragged his body closer. Two pulls and his chest was just across the threshold of the incinerator, when he finally gave a pause.

 

There really was an irritating buzzing sound. He hadn’t been imagining it.

 

Eugene pulled out his wrist-set, having seemingly forgotten about it in his suit pocket, glancing at the unknown caller on the screen. His face scrunched up in utter confusion. There were only two people who could possibly call him, one for a monthly cut of his 25%, the other already gone from this planet.

He felt something akin to what invalids must feel - breathless, heart stuttering. Had something happened to Vincent? No -

“- Hello?”

“Yes, hi I’m looking for one man named Eugene Morrow. Someone requested Anti-Pining services?”

He would have to consider researching on the psychological effects of emotions on physical well-being one day. It was one of the characteristics of Man that was still practically improbably affected by genes, just a matter of wavelengths that form a sentient mind.

The familiar warm tone’d soothed him like no glass of golden-hued whiskey could’ve ever once did.

He scoffed.

“Pining? I’m celebrating, you heedless buffoon. I can finally indulge in the priceless vodka that I’d been abstaining from for your tediously anal workplace.”

“Yeah well, happy birthday in advance then. I figured that I might as well help you spend some of our money on something not of the ‘guilty pleasures’ variety and treat you to this latest prototype upgrade.”

“Yes yes very amazing. aren’t you supposed to be half-arsed on your merry way to Titan? And I’ll have you know that the habits I indulge are very worthy of a person of my status - anything i indulge in is immediately so.”

Eugene shifted backwards to get into a better lounging position as per his usual when sassing others from his 4'6" - and froze as the metal edge digging into his side suddenly brought him back to the very moment he’d been on his way to realising before it’d been interrupted by an unexpected call.

He must have made some sound, for Vincent’s voice was querying in his ear.

“Eugene?”

“Nah, it’s nothing, just found some dirt in my wheels.”

There was a silent ‘If you say so’ felt, however the poor boy, wonderful Vincent, let it be, as always with him and evasion. Eugene felt him putter about, deliberating over how to phrase certain words.

 

“So… about that lock of hair…”

Darn it that idiot, forever throwing the proverbial wrench in his plans.

“Yes, about that, wonderful parting gift ain’t it.” Vincent chuckled.

“Well thanks for that, I’m sure it’ll come in very useful for any sudden onsite checks on landing.”

Eugene could hear certain muffled voices in the background, clear yet barely intelligible.  
“What was that - “

“Oh.”  
The soft exclamation did not sound worrying, rather, it sounded like Vincent’s breath had been stolen away from him in that gasp. Nothing was said over the line, only the soft sounds of Vincent’s breathing could be heard.

“Vincent?” He gave a pause before he continued, “Speechless for once?”

That prompted a chuckle out of Vincent, who immediately replied, albeit, oddly faint.

“Shut up, It’s just, we’ve gained visual on Titan.”

The awe in his silence was practically palpable across the 790 million miles and space between them.

“It is everything and more than what I imagined it to be.”

“Well then, don’t just piss yourself till you actually land. Wouldn’t want them deciding to dump you into space do we?”

“Shut up. Seriously, you’re spoiling the moment.”

“Your moment, not mine. Speaking of which, my interrupted session with appreciated alcohols needs me.”

“You’re going to be okay, right?”  
The sudden earnestness in the question made Eugene hesitate to continue responding in his usual flippant habitualistic sarcasm. Gazing unfocused at the metal walls in front of him, he let out a tiny sigh.

“Yes you fool. I’ll be alright. Not as if I hadn’t been the one doing the coddling all these while.”

“Good then,” Further sounds and voices could be heard in the background, and Vincent’s voice grew louder, probably rushing to end the call.

“Well, I’ve got to go. Have fun with your appreciation session, and by the way,” Vincent paused, tone almost teasing, “You might want to recheck your liquor cupboards.”

Wait, what did he mean by -  
“- Oh no you did no - “ Vincent’s chuckle cut him off.

“See you in 365 days, Eugene.”

“Mark my words, enjoy your freedom on that fancy moon of yours. I’ll be counting down the days till i get my call-boy back again.”

The double-meaning in the wordings chosen could have been accidental, un-intentional. Could have.

The laughter was still ringing in his ears long after the call had ended. Have a nice trip, dear Vincent. Victorious amongst the stars.

 

 

Flames, strong roaring flames, rushed through the metal chamber, incinerating any last bit of matter that was within its four strong walls of steel alloy. Through the slits in the door, the silvery glint of a medal could be seen, slowly melting, disintegrating, becoming an unrecognisable lump of grey, joining the rest of the burnt debri on the chamber floor.

The flames burnt on, resembling the endless fiery rage from the depths of hell.

It would continue on doing so, until 15 minutes later, as per its usual programmed timing. Except, this would be the last time it would be used in a long while.

 

 

Eugene stared at the nearly blinding orange-yellow-white of the flames, before tearing his eyes away, moving his hands, and steering himself, turn by turn, further from the chamber.

Vincent would be waiting for him, would be expecting him to be waiting here in his home - their home - when he comes back.

 

He never was one to disappoint, was he?

 

 

At least not Vincent.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wellp, yep, that's it. hope the "ending" (or starting of a new hope? -/shot) was satisfactory, to whoever even reads this
> 
> (okay i wrote some other things but the words just disappeared and i'm sadd. D: ) 
> 
> this is the first work of fiction i've written in practically a year plus, so pardon any mistakes i make and do point them out to me if you spot any! thanks!
> 
> well, hope you guys liked this, give any insights or thoughts, and hey keep on supporting this amazing movie. 
> 
> (jude law though. )
> 
> P.S. the call-boy thing. initially i just truly meant it as like..servant, page, manservant, butler, whathaveyou - till my brain caught up with me and i remembered the other use of the term call-boy. O_O oh, such coincidences that occur in the world.


End file.
